


Flashpoint

by electricshoebox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Consent, Fluff, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Smut, The Smoke Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One time he got so excited, he set the curtains on fire."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashpoint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alphabetiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabetiful/gifts).



> So this was a prompt fic that got a little out of hand when I decided to make it my opportunity to write Dorian setting fire to the curtains, which seems to be an Adoribull rite of passage. Hopefully I've made it a fun ride. Original prompt was "I swear it was an accident." Please take a moment to check out [Bet's amazing picture of Dorian doing the smoke trick,](http://alphabetiful.tumblr.com/post/123497997444/ataashi-glorious-one) it was absolutely my inspiration. Copious thanks to [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) for being a wonderful sounding board and beta.

“And then in comes the Iron Bull, charging like a mad druffalo, horns first. No shit, he headbutts the dragon. Right in the damn snout!”  Varric said.

Sera perched next to him, and she pounded her fist into her hand as he said it and shouted, “ _Wham_! Like that!”

Laughter erupted around them. Tankards lifted into the air toward the head of the table, where Bull reclined with a grin. A chorus of “Horns up!” followed, and Bull raised his own drink in answer.

The tavern was full tonight, for the first time in days. Some of Cullen’s men returned that morning from some sort of skirmish in eastern Orlais, some to-do in the Plains, so Dorian gathered. The Inquisitor’s party followed shortly after—Bull, Sera, and Varric, with a heavy cartload of bones and scales bringing up the rear. The Chargers arrived at dusk, fresh from the smoking ruins of Adamant and ready to drink. Now the barmaids flitted from table to table, darting around drunken soldiers and wayward chairs with hands full.

A few seats down, Bull’s laughter carried over the chattering from the table of scouts behind them, and it was good to hear. Dorian might even admit it was good to hear the Chargers, too, despite that their presence back in Herald’s Rest came with bawdy, off-key tavern songs shouted over the din. The tavern still filled with song and dance whenever they left on missions or on Bull’s various “team-bonding exercises” (that usually involved some manner of snarling, toothy creature roaming the desert, because it was Bull). But never quite with the same enthusiasm, or noise level, and most of the songs were Maryden’s, which ought to say everything of their caliber. Bull’s boys were hardly overflowing with discerning taste, but Dorian found listening to songs of the Inquisitor’s own exploits and allies somewhat unnerving. He’d take a poorly sung round of “Andraste’s Mabari” over them any day—it was almost ( _almost_ ) endearing.

Dorian’s eyes fell then on Bull’s fingers where they curled around his tankard.  It had been two weeks tromping in the Hinterlands, this time. Dorian suspected Bull agreed the moment the word “dragon” left the Inquisitor’s lips. It was the first time they spent any lengthy period of time away from each other since starting this… arrangement of theirs, and to Dorian’s surprise, he felt Bull’s absence keenly. Not that his days passed unoccupied: he threw himself into his self-appointed research, poring over every tome in the library that so much as mentioned Tevinter bloodlines, genealogy, or house history, chasing Corypheus backward through the ages one generation at a time. And he still frequented the tavern in the evenings, meeting Dagna when she surfaced from the Undercroft to chat about her experiments, or sharing a table with Harding and a few of her scouts as they enjoyed a night off.

Still, he found himself glancing out the window as he paused his reading in the afternoon, expecting to see Bull and Krem locking shields in the training ring, and feeling a strange emptiness when he saw only a few of the soldiers sparring, or no one at all. He found his eyes wandering away from Dagna’s energetic gesturing every now and again to the empty chair Bull usually gathered his boys around. One evening, he nearly walked to Bull’s room instead of his own after paying for his drinks. He spent the rest of _that_  sleepless night wondering when it had become a habit, and trying to convince himself to consider it a bad one.

Bull’s fingers stretched around his tankard, and Dorian realized he’d been staring at them. They flicked upward, just once, and Dorian’s eyes darted up to find Bull staring back. A slow smile spread across Bull’s lips.

Dorian’s instinct was to look away, to smother his own smile with his drink, then make certain no one else at the table caught sight of them. He tamped it down. He knew it was dangerous, the way that just the sight of Bull’s fingers or the corner of his eye crinkling as he laughed could send heat flaring up the back of Dorian’s neck. There was something frightening in the way his bed felt far too empty by night. But there were two weeks, three chairs, half a table, and two layers of clothes (on Dorian’s part, anyway) between them, and—however ill-advised it likely was—Dorian had missed that smile. He was just drunk enough not to care what it might mean. So he quirked his lips in answer and tipped his tankard just a fraction toward Bull before he took a drink.

Bull’s gaze trailed over Dorian’s neck, down his arms, across his chest, and back to his lips. Dorian lowered his tankard to the table and smirked. Then he stretched back in his chair, casually hooking an arm across the back of it and feigning interest in whatever tale Varric was in the middle of spinning. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bull lean back and down the rest of his drink in one gulp.

Bull waited until Varric reached a lull in the tale (something about goats and copper marigolds was all Dorian caught) before he stood and stretched, letting his muscles bulge with the movement. Dorian nearly rolled his eyes.

“Well,” said Bull, fishing coins out of his pocket and tossing them on the table, “I think this dragon slayer’s earned a good night’s rest. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

He waved off the Charger’s pleas for him to stay another round, and ruffled Krem’s hair as he passed. His fingers brushed Dorian’s neck next, quick and feather-light, and then he was lumbering up the stairs.

Their dalliance was hardly clandestine anymore, and Dorian knew that (perhaps all too well). He could claim to find pretending so thrilling, but after a lifetime of sex in the shadows and whispers in the dark, the secrecy had lost its charm, and Bull would know the lie for what it was anyway. No, playful necessity was honed long ago into survival instinct, impossible to ignore. He needed no such thing here, and knew the teasing jabs and smiles he’d get by simply standing and following after Bull came without malice. But the idea still struck a chord of fear in him that resonated. He waited another half a tale before he yawned, and a little longer after that before he swallowed the last of his ale and stood. The knowing smiles came anyway (with a particular wink from Varric), but he made his excuses and left through the front door, heading to the outside stairs.

Dorian barely got the door open before he found himself pushed up against it, Bull’s hands at his waist. A quick glance showed Bull had enough time to remove his harness and his boots, and Dorian heard the crackle of a fire in the hearth. Then his eyes met Bull’s. There was a fire there, too, and Dorian felt heat pool in his own belly.

“Took you long enough,” Bull said. “Thought I’d have to march back down there and throw you over my shoulder.”

“Think it’d be that easy, do you?” said Dorian, letting Bull crowd him closer against the door. Dorian slid his hands up Bull’s arms and over his shoulders, trying not to seem as desperate to touch Bull’s skin as he felt. His fingers followed the hard lines of muscle. Maker, the Bull’s shoulders were works of art.

“The challenge would be half the fun,” rumbled Bull. He leaned close, his breath ghosting across Dorian’s cheek. Dorian’s fingers tightened on Bull’s arms.

“Eager, are we?” Dorian said. He almost managed to keep his voice steady.

“I thought of you,” Bull whispered, husky. “At night, when the camp got quiet. And when we beat the dragon, _mmm_ …”

Dorian huffed, though it sounded closer to a laugh than a scoff, even to his ears. “I’m so very flattered a dead dragon reminds you of me.”

“Wanted you there,” said Bull. _Oh._ Dorian’s skin tingled at that, and Bull’s mouth moved to his ear, nipping gently at the earlobe. “The victory, the glory of it, that moment…wanted you there.”

Dorian shivered. Hot and low in his ear, it sounded almost like an admission, like the feeling Dorian didn’t have a name for that stuck in his chest every time he looked up and wished Bull were there, looking back. Sharp and sweet, all at once, rushing through him.

“Two blighted weeks,” Dorian mumbled back. It took him a moment to realize it was complaint and confession united. It took him a moment longer than that to realize he was all right with that. Or at the very least, too lost in the feeling of Bull here, at last, to care.

Bull pulled back enough to look at him. “Dorian,” he said, and that was answer enough.

The kiss was violent. They crashed together (the way they had in so many things, really), and Dorian was swept into it, almost dizzy with the crush of Bull’s tongue, the tingle of bitten lips, the push for more. Dorian’s hands slid higher, cupping the back of Bull’s neck, thumbs pressed in just below Bull’s jaw. He hooked a booted foot behind Bull’s good knee, jerking it forward. Bull had to let go of him to steady himself against the door, but that earned Dorian a growl, and then Bull’s thigh shoved pointedly between his legs. Dorian hummed his pleasure against Bull’s lips.

“Fiesty,” Bull said when he pulled back, smiling his approval. Dorian rolled his hips, making them both groan.

“I know you like me with a little… _fire_ ,” said Dorian. He leaned up, concentrating for a moment on a point at Bull’s chest, and letting heat build in his own, holding it tight, twisting it with his mind. Then he looked up at Bull and parted his lips. Smoke curled up from between them.

It was an old trick but not an easy one, meant more for theater performances and costume parties, a way for the alti to show off their skill. Feeling Bull still against him, his eye going wide and dark, was more gratifying than any of the polite clapping Dorian ever received for mastering it, as was the way Bull’s cock thickened against Dorian’s thigh.

Dorian grinned and did it again, wisps of smoke swirling up from the corners of his mouth. Then he blew the smoke gently into Bull’s face. That got him another growl, and the sound jolted pure want through Dorian’s body.

“You’re incredible,” Bull said. He hoisted Dorian up into his arms before Dorian could answer, forcing him to wrap his legs around the Bull’s waist to keep his balance. Dorian wondered, fleetingly, if Bull being able to manhandle him like that would ever stop being painfully arousing.

He hit the bed hard enough to unsettle the pillows. Bull followed, looming over Dorian and reaching for the buckles on his chest. But with one flick of Dorian’s fingers, every buckle on his outfit popped open. Heat flared again in Bull’s eye as he yanked the leather free. Dorian was showing off now, he knew, but Bull wasn’t complaining. Dorian smiled smugly up at him as Bull divested him of the rest of his clothes, coaxing Dorian’s hips up as he went.

Moments like this were the most dangerous of all, Dorian was rapidly realizing. The first time the Bull ever undressed him, it had surprised Dorian that he didn’t just toss Dorian’s things across the room and have at him. Instead, he draped them carefully over a chair near the hearth. When Dorian raised a curious eyebrow, Bull shrugged and said, “You’d probably throw a fireball at me if I wrinkled them.” Which wasn’t true. Dorian reserved fireballs for the ones who tried to actually tear his robes off of him.

But it was the care that struck him. It wasn’t difficult to notice that Dorian’s clothing mattered to him, and so Bull noticed. The difference was Bull’s respect for it. He handled Dorian’s things with care, the way he handled Dorian himself--not delicately, but with consideration. Dorian noticed it in the smallest things Bull did: folding his clothes over a chair, moving his wet boots nearer the fire, massaging the rope burn from his wrists until the ache disappeared, leaving marks only where Dorian could cover them later, and a myriad of other things. But there lay the danger, as well: Dorian could get used to that.

He already craved the way Bull was looking at him now as Bull worked the buckle of his own belt loose. Dorian, finally naked, reclined back on his elbows on the bed, his eyelids drooping low as he watched Bull’s hands. Holding his concentration there, Dorian called another fire spell to his body, holding it steady at his core, and letting it smolder across his lips. He smiled again, and as he did, the smoke rose between his teeth. Bull tossed his belt away with a thud.

“ _Ataashi_ ,” Bull murmured.

“What does that mean?” said Dorian.

“It means ‘dragon,’” said Bull. His lips quirked. “It means you’re glorious.”

Dorian smiled. Then pursed his lips and blew smoke into the air between them in a perfect ring. Bull’s pants dropped to the ground, half-hard cock springing free. Dorian chuckled.

“Going to stand there gaping all night?” Dorian said, a few lingering wisps of smoke escaping on the sibilants.

“It _is_  an impressive view,” Bull said.

“True,” Dorian said, still grinning. “And you can look all you like once you’ve ravished me properly.”

“Now who’s eager?” said Bull, stepping toward the bedside table without taking his eyes from Dorian.

“I demand satisfaction, ser,” Dorian said. He raised his chin.

“What makes you think you’ve earned it, hmm?” Bull reached into the drawer and pulled out a coil of rope and a small vial. A little thrill skittered up Dorian’s spine at his words.

“What makes you think you deserve this?” Bull continued, turning back. He bent a knee to the bed between Dorian’s feet and smirked. Then he trailed his free hand down to give his cock one long, slow stroke. Dorian wet his lips, eyes following the motion of Bull’s hand.

Then he dragged them back up to Bull’s face, remembering himself and raising his chin again. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Bull’s grin turned sharp. He set the vial on the bed near Dorian’s foot and climbed up, rope in hand. He settled himself between Dorian’s thighs, leaning over him close enough that their noses brushed.

“Watchword,” Bull said.

Dorian swallowed. “Katoh.”

“Lay back. Raise your arms,” said Bull.

Dorian closed his eyes, summoning another spell. He took a deep breath, drawing the heat up the back of his throat, and then exhaled, letting the smoke pour out of his nostrils. It tingled a little, but he managed to keep from flinching. When he opened his eyes again, he bared his teeth.

“Make me.”

Bull growled. His free hand wrapped immediately around Dorian’s neck—just enough pressure to coax. Dorian’s hands flew up to clutch at Bull’s, and Bull shoved him back. He grabbed each of Dorian’s wrists, yanking them up over his head as Dorian struggled against his grip, just to feel it tighten. He pinned them together against the mattress, and Dorian felt the slide of the rope against them. Bull worked quickly, tying Dorian carefully but tightly and then testing the knot. He ran his hands back down Dorian’s arms when he finished, turning his nails to the skin as he went. Dorian hissed at the sting.

“Think I oughta just keep you here all night, just like this,” Bull said. He sat back, reaching for the vial. “Maybe I’ll take hours just stretching you open, little by little, just letting you feel my fingers until you’re begging for my cock.”

Dorian felt a plea of “Promise?” on the tip of his tongue, and grit his teeth against it, even as the desperation of it flooded him. After a moment to steady himself, he forced out instead, “You won’t last.”

“Neither will you,” said Bull. He tipped the bottle onto his fingers.

They’d played this game before, many times. The push and pull, give and take, was familiar, and Dorian relished that after so many empty nights. Sometimes Bull let him win, giving in to Dorian’s defiance, and sometimes he held out until Dorian was half out of his mind with arousal, too far gone to resist.

“I will take that challenge,” Dorian said.

Bull smirked, maneuvering himself to lean over Dorian’s thighs. Then he ran the flat of his tongue from the base of Dorian’s cock all the way to the tip, just once.

It startled a moan from Dorian’s throat. His fingers scrabble for a hold on the edge of the bed, hands twisting in the binds. Bull chuckled above him.

“Challenge? Oh no. Consider it a promise,” he said, keeping his head level with Dorian’s rapidly hardening cock. Dorian could feel every breath on the wet trail Bull left behind, and it made him squirm.

Bull smiled and sat back again. He grabbed Dorian’s leg with his clean hand and dragged him forward until Dorian’s thighs splayed across Bull’s lap. Forced to let go of the edge of the bed, Dorian dug his fingers into what he could reach of the sheets.

Bull’s fingers, meanwhile, teased over Dorian’s balls, and then made a slow trail down his perineum. Dorian dug his teeth into his lip.

He had given up fighting his frustrated fantasies one night during Bull’s absence (though he’d sooner shave off his mustache than admit it to Bull), and tried to recreate this feeling. He’d thrown the sheets back with a groan in the dark and rifled through his drawer for oil. But his own fingers couldn’t fill him the way Bull’s did, and trying to picture the Bull there, above him, whispering to him, touching him, only left him wanting. None of it felt as perfect as Bull’s fingertip sinking into him now, inch by maddening inch.

“That’s it, big guy,” said Bull. “Open for me.”

Dorian bit his lip harder and tried to relax. The slow slide of it was torture, delicious torture, and his cock twitched where it lay heavy and hard against his stomach.

“There you go,” Bull said. “I know what you want. I’m going to make you feel so good. I’m going to drive you wild. All you have to do is ask.”

Dorian’s thighs tensed as Bull finally sank in to the knuckle. “You’ll…” he started, swallowed, started again, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Bull’s finger curled within him. Dorian bit off a cry, hips flexing.

“Let me hear you,” Bull said. He slid his finger slowly back, then in again. “Come on.”

Dorian hissed, shutting his eyes and tensing again, but smothered another moan. Bull shook his head, pulling his finger out again.

“I said let me hear you,” said Bull. Dorian met Bull’s gaze with a defiant glare.

“And I said you’ll have to do better than-- _ahh_!”

Bull pushed back in with two fingers, and Dorian bucked his hips. Bull’s free hand tightened on Dorian’s leg, then moved, fingers digging in as it rose to the sensitive skin at the juncture of Dorian’s hip. His thumb settled teasingly close to Dorian’s erection, stroking feather-light just out of reach of where Dorian craved it.

“You’re fighting dirty,” Dorian said, breathless.

“I always fight dirty,” said Bull. “Same as I fuck. And you love it.”

The two fingers buried in Dorian spread him open, curling as they moved, sending little sparks of pleasure up his spine. Bull’s thumb continued to stroke Dorian’s hip. Frustrated, Dorian groaned and writhed, trying to coax Bull’s hand where he wanted it. Bull shook his head and moved instead to grab hard at the meat of Dorian’s thigh, holding it down against Bull’s knee. Dorian hoped silently that it would bruise. He pressed those marks sometimes as he sat in the library, even before Bull left on his trip. His eyes would stray from the page and his fingers would slip beneath the strips of leather at his legs, digging into a sore spot and biting his lip. A guilty pleasure he indulged when no one was looking, and, during Bull’s time away, a small hope of things to come. If Dorian allowed himself such a thing.

“If you want me to touch you,” said Bull, shaking Dorian from his thoughts, “You know what to do. Nice and loud, so I can hear it.”

He let his fingers continue their slow rhythm, a steady, even slide that set Dorian’s skin tingling, but gave him no relief. Dorian gritted his teeth and said nothing, but his hips betrayed him anyway, unable to still under the maddening pleasure of Bull’s hands.

“I’ll tie your ankles next time,” said Bull, his head bowed to watch his fingers. “Maybe I’ll tie you in pretty knots, all down your back, let you wait there for me to stretch you, take you.”

Dorian failed to muffle the moan Bull’s words stirred. Bull smiled.

“Mmm, how long could you hold out like that, bound and bared for me? Aching for my cock? You’re aching for it now. You know how full you’ll feel, how good it’s going to be when I slide into you.”

On the next pass of his fingers, he added a third. Dorian threw his head back and cried out.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bull said. “That’s what I wanna hear. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Dorian, every sound you make drives me wild.”

“Then do something about it,” Dorian panted. Bull crooked his fingers, and Dorian’s hips jumped as he let out another cry.

“Been thinking about this for days,” Bull said, voice lower now. “I want to savor it, savor you. I want to make you feel incredible, even if I have to wait all night for you to give in.”

Dorian stilled then. He looked up to see Bull’s eye soften, just for a moment. How could Dorian argue with that? An ache bloomed in Dorian’s chest to rival the ache in his cock. He wasn’t sure which would undo him first. His resolve began to waver.

The Bull would be the death of him, one way or another. But he wasn’t going out without a fight.

Straining to lift his head a little, he gave Bull the most devilish smile he could muster while bound and spread over Bull’s lap. A heat spell blazed to life at his core, and he let smoke burst from his lips as he pressed his hips back against Bull’s fingers. He arched his back, a smoky groan torn from his throat. When he finally managed to look up again, the Bull was watching him, captivated, hungry.

“Fuck, Dorian,” Bull said. “You’re amazing.”

Dorian smirked again, unable to keep from preening under Bull’s gaze. Before he could say anything, however, Bull shifted them, moving Dorian’s legs off of his thighs and spreading them wider. Then he stretched over Dorian, leaning down close, his belly brushing against Dorian’s cock. Dorian whimpered. Bull kept his fingers moving and nipped his way up Dorian’s jaw.

“You’re so strong to last this long,” he breathed against Dorian’s ear. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are like this?”

Bull punctuated his words with a hard thrust of his fingers, making Dorian groan. Bull sank his teeth into Dorian’s earlobe, hard enough to mark, then soothed it with his tongue. Dorian gasped.

“I know. I know what you want. Gonna take care of you. Let me,” Bull said, rolling his hips a little so that his stomach rubbed against Dorian’s erection again. Dorian’s determination finally shattered.

“Agh, Bull, _fuck me_ ,” he cried, writhing. Bull smiled against his jaw.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, sitting back again.

He grabbed the bottle of oil and poured more into his palm. The he rose up on his knees, towering further above Dorian, giving him the full view as Bull grabbed his cock. He stroked lazily, coating every inch once and again. He trailed his palm over the crown, circling, tracing, then let his fist sink slowly back down again. Bull’s gaze swept over Dorian as he worked. What a sight he must make, arms bound overhead, fingers tangled in the sheets, hair ruffled. He trembled, and his cock twitched against his stomach, hard and flushed. An appreciative noise rumbled up from the back of Bull’s throat, and want seared through Dorian’s body like a brand.

“Bull,” Dorian rasped. He tried to drag his fraying concentration together enough for another spell, so that when he finally forced out another “Fuck me!” he drew out the syllables with smoke.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Bull said. He edged back toward Dorian on the bed, grabbing Dorian’s thighs once more and lining up his cock.

Bull’s grip kept him still, forcing him to endure Bull’s cock slowly sinking in the way his fingers had. Dorian reeled, the sensation flooding him. Every single second of the two weeks past was worth it, just for this moment.

“So good. You feel so good, Dorian,” Bull said as he slid forward another inch.

“ _Kaffas_ , Bull, yes,” Dorian hissed.

Bull’s hand strayed from Dorian’s hip to tease along his stomach. He laughed at at the growl he got for avoiding Dorian’s cock yet again. He spread his fingers across Dorian’s chest instead. His thumb passed over Dorian’s nipple, and Dorian inhaled sharply. Bull grinned and did it again, circling. Such a gentle touch coupled with the heavy pressure of his cock set Dorian shaking again. His fingers flexed, longing to touch Bull in return, to yank him the rest of the way forward, to pull his fingertips high enough to kiss, to claw and caress all at once. There was tenderness and desperation at war in him, and too heavy a fog in his mind to separate them.

Bull watched him still, and Dorian wondered how many of his thoughts passed across his face. But Bull said nothing, just let his hand slide further up Dorian’s chest, over his collarbone, his neck, and finally cupping his cheek just as Bull’s cock slid home between Dorian’s thighs.

Dorian tried to catch his breath. His eyes fluttered shut as Bull stroked his cheek, and Bull’s hips settled against his.

“Shit, Dorian,” he said. “You’re perfect. Fucking perfect.”

“Bull,” Dorian said. Their eyes met, and for a moment, all they could do was pant against each other. Then Dorian craned his neck enough to press his forehead against Bull’s.

“Maker,” Dorian said. “I missed you.”

Bull’s eye darkened. “Fuck.”

He surged forward, kissing Dorian with enough force to bear Dorian’s head back down against the mattress. Bull engulfed him, tongue sweeping into Dorian’s mouth, and Dorian bit at it. They kissed like men starved of each other, desperate to drink in every breath, swallow every noise. In the flurry of it all, Bull’s hips finally moved.

He thrust slow and shallow, but it tore a moan from Dorian’s throat anyway, muffled as it was against Bull’s lips. Bull thrust again, and Dorian’s hips snapped in answer. Bull nipped at Dorian’s lips, falling back to short kisses that made the corner of Dorian’s mouth quirk up.

Bull pulled out further, and Dorian felt his smile just before he slammed home. Dorian arched up, keening, and leaving his throat bared to Bull’s teeth as they sank into the skin there. Bull bit his way down Dorian’s neck, pausing where it met Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian knew a bruise still lingered there from the night Bull left, yellowed now and fading. Dorian heard Bull chuckle, then his mouth covered the bruise, sucking it fresh. His hips found a rhythm at last, abandoning the slow slide to drive deep into Dorian. Dorian clung helplessly to the edge of the bed as it slid back in reach, lost in the wet heat of Bull’s mouth on his skin. Bull nuzzled the mark, humming against it.

“Yeah,” he groaned. “Oh yeah. So fucking good.”

“More,” Dorian choked out. “Want...more.”

Bull obliged. He pulled his mouth away to sit back, and reached for Dorian’s waist. His thumbs rested on either side of Dorian’s erection, but he still refused to touch it.

“Bull,” Dorian said. “Bull, _please_.”

“Please what?” said Bull, slowing his movements. Oh, that bastard.

“ _Please_ ,” Dorian said. “Touch me. Fasta vass, please, touch me.”

“There you go,” Bull said, rewarding him with a hard jab of his hips. Bull’s hand slid closer to Dorian’s straining cock, thumbs skimming up either side, only just enough to feel.

“Bull!” Dorian cried. “I need...more… _fuck_.”

Bull smirked. “So demanding. Not another please in there for me?”

Dorian struggled against his bonds, letting out a frustrated groan. Then he managed to force his head up, summoning every bit of will he had left to hold another heat spell at his chest. He leveled Bull the most demanding look he could.

“Please,” he said, smoke on his lips.

“Fuck!” Bull shouted. He leaned forward, shoving Dorian down to meet his thrusts as he began to pound into him. Then he released his hold on one side of Dorian’s waist to wrap a hand around Dorian’s cock.

The moment Bull took him in hand, Dorian’s body flooded with heat. The spell he was holding steady flared stronger in his chest. His back bowed, his whole world centering suddenly on the frantic pleasure of Bull’s touch. Bull stroked him once, twice, and then everything exploded. He felt Bull follow him over the edge moments later.

For several blissful moments, Dorian floated on the waves of ecstasy that coursed through his body. Then he felt himself being jostled, felt a sudden emptiness between his thighs. Distantly he heard his name.

“Dorian. Dorian, come on! The curtains!”

Dorian managed to roll onto his belly and slowly glanced toward Bull’s voice. Then he finally saw it. The curtains on either side of the window were in flames. Dorian sat up quickly as Bull threw a pitcher of water from his dresser onto the fire. He managed to douse one side, but the other still flickered against the stone. Dorian raised his bound hands, shaking the fog from his mind enough to concentrate power into his fingers and cover what remained of the curtains in ice.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Bull stood at the foot of the bed, panting, while Dorian knelt on the mattress, still staring blankly at the pile of ashes below the window.

Then Bull started to chuckle.

Dorian’s head snapped toward him. Bull covered his mouth, then shook his head, laughter bursting from behind his fingers. Bull laughed until he was breathless with it, dropping the pitcher onto the rug and leaning against the bed.

Dorian felt his cheeks burning brighter than the curtains had. He stared down at his hands, bound in his lap, and willed the blush away. Madness. Complete madness. He hadn’t lost control like that since he was six years old, standing in the foyer and tugging on his mother’s least favorite tapestry. He could remember watching in fright as flames burst from his fingers and raced up along the threads. He jumped back in terror. At least his mother laughed.

That Bull of all people should affect such a thing in him… surely that was dangerous. He lost himself completely in that moment, in the feel of Bull around him, in his touch, his words, the fury and delight of it… that was frightening.

A touch on his chin startled him from his thoughts. Bull hovered at the edge of the bed, still smiling, but gently now.

“Hey,” Bull said. “I never liked those much anyway.”

Dorian forced a half-hearted grin to his lips. “Happy to help, though I swear, it was an accident.”

Bull laughed. When Dorian only managed a weak chuckle, Bull tipped Dorian’s chin up, looking at him with concern.

Dorian sighed. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“You’re embarrassed,” Bull said, after a moment.

Dorian snorted. “No, I’m simply thrilled I nearly set your room on fire.”

“Well, it’s just about the best compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Bull said. He released Dorian’s chin and sat down behind him on the bed, coaxing Dorian to turn so he can begin untying the rope.

Dorian huffed a laugh. “It’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever given. Certainly the most eloquent.”

Bull pulled the rope free and pressed his thumbs gently along the marks where the rope dug into his skin. Embarrassment still churned in Dorian’s stomach, but Bull’s touch was soothing, and he didn’t pull away.

“Perhaps I should take my leave before I put the rest of your things in peril,” Dorian said, watching Bull’s fingers work.

“So soon?” Bull looked up. “Come on, maybe this time you’ll get lucky and hit my trousers.”

Dorian couldn’t help a smile. “Well, that would certainly be worth the effort.”

Bull shifted, wrapping his hands around Dorian’s wrists, and said quietly, “Besides, I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you letting go like that.” He shrugged, grinning. “Feels good to know I could get you there.”

Dorian felt his cheeks flush, and he looked away. He tried to sound annoyed as he said, “You really are physically incapable of speaking without puns, aren’t you?”

Bull blinked at him for a moment, and Dorian watched him think over his words before it dawned on him with a bark of laughter. Bull slapped his knee. He actually slapped his knee, like an old man with one too many ales in his belly. Worst of all, Dorian was utterly charmed. So, it seemed his discerning taste was truly failing him where more than just tavern fare was concerned.

“Well,” Bull said once he finally recovered, “that aside, I did mean it.”

“I’ll endeavor to be flattered,” said Dorian. “But perhaps it’s best I don’t tempt fate.”

Dorian slipped one foot to the floor, pulling his hands out of Bull’s grip. He glanced around for where Bull had piled his clothes.

“What about some wine by the fire, then? Just talk for awhile?”

Dorian looked back at him in surprise. “You’re… you’re serious?”

Bull shrugged his shoulder, but Dorian saw a flicker of something hopeful cross his face as he said, “Your choice.”

Dorian weighed the offer. They drank together in the tavern what bordered on nightly. Sometimes they even drank alone, just the two of them, though usually by outlasting, or outdrinking, the rest of the Chargers. Those nights led mostly to the two of them stumbling back to their own rooms. But Bull had never offered a casual chat by the fire after sex before, and in the wake of Dorian burning down his curtains, the gesture seemed almost comical. Surely Dorian ought to leave. He should make his way back to his room with the tatters of his dignity and the whirlwind of his feelings, and he should try to forget what happened (and steel himself for Bull never to let him). On the other hand, wine also sounded like an excellent shortcut to the same goal. Truthfully, curtains notwithstanding, he liked the idea of an excuse to linger near Bull just a little longer.

Finally, Dorian said, “Well, that all depends on the wine you’re offering, I’d say. I simply won’t settle for the barrel-bottom drivel these Fereldans drink.”

Bull chuckled. He pushed himself off the bed and strolled across the room to the pack resting near his wardrobe. he bent to fish through it, giving Dorian a truly inspiring view of his ass as he did. Bull glanced back over his shoulder and winked, and Dorian rolled his eyes. Bull straightened and moved back to the bed, holding out a wine bottle for Dorian to take.

Dorian gasped. “Is this… Aggregio Pavali? How did you--?”

“Old merchant on the docks in Redcliffe,” said Bull. “Just got in as we were headed to that armor shop the Inquisitor likes, with all the velvet crap. I thought I’d save it for a rainy day, but might as well share it with someone who’ll appreciate it.”

Dorian tore his eyes away from the bottle long enough to raise an eyebrow at Bull. “One of the finest wines in Thedas and you just picked it up for a rainy day?”

Bull gave him a lopsided grin and another shrug. “Just ended up in the right place at the right time, so I wasn’t gonna pass it up.”

Dorian ran a hand over the label. “Just on a whim? This must have cost a fortune.”

“Nah. Not really. The boss might’ve helped there, a little,” said Bull. “So, you done fondling it?”

“By all means,” Dorian passed the bottle back.

As Bull worked the bottle open, Dorian lay back on the pillows at the head of the bed, draping the sheet over his waist. His eyes fell back on Bull again as Bull set the cork on the side table. Picking up an expensive Tevinter vintage just for a rainy day? Bull usually had a better story ready if he was going to spin one. But Dorian let him have it, curious though it made him, and decided not to press him.

Bull climbed back up onto the bed. He raised the bottle with a smile once he'd settled at Dorian's side. "To keeping things exciting.”

Dorian felt his cheeks heat again as Bull took a sip, and he shook his head. He reached for the bottle, considering, then finally said, “To… pleasant surprises.”

Bull laughed. “Pleasant surprises. Yeah, I’ll drink to that.”

 

 


End file.
